She felt--she almost knew, indeed---that she and her love were classified among the things he expected to "accomplish" so easily at last, and her hot resentment burned hotter. She was tempted to flash out her wildest cry of the loathing--the bitter, eternal loathing--his words had begotten in her bosom. She was tempted again to a desperate wish that the tiger might rend him in pieces--as _she_ would do if ever he touched her again. But she dared not trust herself to speak, or even to show, by the slightest sign, that his threat was comprehended. She clung in desperation to the subject she felt to be safe. "Then--you do think the tiger dangerous--hard, at least, to kill?" "Well, I wouldn't call him exactly plum pudding and gravy." "Your cannon would kill him, though, of course?" "If he'd pose in front of the muzzle, a rod or so away." A cold chill crept along her nerves at thoughts of the savage animal she herself had twice encountered. She wondered just what Grenville's method would be--in overcoming some of the things he had vowed to conquer. "You hardly expect to shoot the creature, then, after all?" He held up the fork he was carving, for critical examination. "I'm rather inclined to favor the plan of leaving a bait in the jungle, and letting go a bomb when he comes to dine." Her natural concern for the man's own safety could not be long expelled. "How shall you know when he comes?" she inquired, and she dared look up as before. Grenville continued to bend his gaze on his labor. "I expect to hang around and see." A sudden fear and sinking of the vitals seized her, unaware. "But--doesn't a tiger usually feed at night?" "His club hours are usually rather late, I believe." "And you'll wait around for him to come in the dark?" "What else can I do? Can't expect him to 'phone me he's arrived." "Oh!" she said, impulsively, "couldn't we build a wall of stone around enough of the fruit for just ourselves? I could help at that. I'd do so gladly!" If an exquisite thrill shot directly to the deeps of Grenville's nature--a thrill aroused by her courage, her generous spirit, her honest and helpful sympathy--he permitted himself to make no sign. Also, he took no fulsome flattery to his soul. But he pictured her forth, with bleeding hands, and torn and grimy garments, as she rolled and carried great stones to the brink, to supply him with blocks for a wall; and his spirit was wondrously glad to think he had made no error of judgment in appraising her character. That all she could do she would do, as mere assistance--do for anyone else in a similar situation, he comprehended fully. But he felt not a whit less exultant for the knowledge of the fact. She was never for a moment a mere useless dependent. She was daily, aye, hourly, assisting in his wholly unequal combat for their lives, and this was a joy to his heart. But he spoke with his usual bluntness, and without a single hint of sympathy in all she had eagerly suggested.